


A Meeting just Remembered

by Eisengrave



Category: Dota 2
Genre: Background Relationships, Established Relationship, nothing really shippy here folks but u know me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 10:56:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20152483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisengrave/pseuds/Eisengrave
Summary: Something was just very different about the battlefield today.[a tiny drabble on Silencer meeting Invoker Persona for the first time]





	A Meeting just Remembered

The splintering headache subsided, rapidly at that. Nortrom lifted his head, even if there was nothing but the sound of the forest around him for now. Something had changed. Today, the field of battle lacked the presence he knew, the chaotic, rampant magic that stirred his senses.

Would it be another one of those days in which he triumphed? Or would it be crushing defeat? Either way, this time, _he_ wouldn't be there. Some of the tension drained out of Nortrom. Without the Invoker, the battlefield was hardly worth conquering. Every time they continued the loop, the endless cycle of the war of the ancients, he feared it might be the last. Whatever impossible conditions had to be met in order for their torment to stop, they might just come together this time.

And what if it was a cycle in which he or Carl were dead? The agony of the thought was enough to put him into a sour mood. It had been an ill-fated stroke of circumstance that he and Kael (or Carl, if your tongue was lazy and human) were trapped in such a timeless brutality. It had been by Kael's design that he and Nortrom, protected by the Sempiternal Cantrap, kept their memories of each disastrous battle. Each death, each rebirth. All of it.

Nortrom envied the others for their ignorance, be it forced magically on them by their captors or not. To not know how many hundreds, thousands of times one had fought and lost was a balm in their hopeless predicament.

And yet...

If he didn't know, he'd be ignorant of Kael and their shared immortality. He'd wonder about their connection anew, each time they met. He'd be struck by guilt and wonder and repulsion, each time he met the Invoker in battle.

No, this was better.

This was at least the pain he knew. Even if it became too much when he buried his glaive in Kael's flesh and watched his armor and skin stain with blood. It was too much when Kael brought the fury of the sky and sun down on his head.

He couldn't count the amount of times they'd committed brutalities against each other, driven by the mad ancients and their eternal bloodlust.

But even if they were only entwined in death, they at least both knew the cycle. They both understood when things were normal, when they would simply come back. Kael and Nortrom both waited for the moment that would change.

And perhaps, that was today. Yet, Kael wasn't here. Nortrom had grown used to the tempest of noise that the innate arcane power inherent in Kael produced. To know it absent when they could be on the cusp of an end to the war of the ancients was unnerving, to say the least.

The river's soft splashing pulled him from his thoughts. He'd drifted towards the mid lane while his thoughts were far away. Already, he could hear the odd, mechanical clinking of the Tinker's machine. He too was magic, but it wasn't particularly arcane. He claimed it was science. Nortrom didn't care. His mage-hunting ways and the Tyler Estate were history in the face of this war.

What he did care about, however, was the brightly glowing, green rune sitting just above the water's surface. It was deceptively peaceful for this to be here, untouched, uncontested.

Nortrom sighed and took the risk, setting a foot into the water. He couldn't very well leave this precious thing here to restore one of today's enemies.

It was cold water, but clear. Later in the day, it would flow red.

Carefully, he walked on, ignoring the discomfort of his entire leg being drenched, despite the calm nature of the water. He reached for the rune, but found himself too far still.

Another step and he stretched out his hand.

The rune disappeared.

Instead, Nortrom found himself face to face with a fat little dragon, a lolling tongue and large eyes that blinked at him slowly.

Was this a courier? One of those little scuttling critters that somehow knew to bring provisions to the battlefield? 

It didn't seem scared of him at all, which was strange. He knew it wasn't his own courier, which meant it was possible from the enemy side, but it made no effort to scuttle out of his path.

"Hah! Me thinks you wanted that!"

A bright, unfamiliar voice called out. It sounded like a child. Nortrom's gaze landed on the owner of it, and sure enough, a child. One he'd never seen before. Was this a new hero, fallen victim to the thrall of the ancients?

It was an elven boy, barely tall enough to brush Nortrom's waist. His hair wild and yellow as straw, his eyes bright, white, glowing with magic.

Nortrom frowned. This was no hero he knew. And from the angle he'd come from, the boy must be part of the Dire.

He couldn't afford to be slow and die. Nortrom raised his hand and cursed the boy, who stumbled back with surprise, grasping at his throat. Silly child. He'd soon learn what this war was all about; death and pain and suffering. So really, not that different from life.

The boy was trying to cast. Odd little bobbles of light floated up around him. Not unlike Carl's reagents, but many heroes had glowing orbs about their person; it was a quirk of their looped existence, surely.

Nortrom paid it no mind. He might as well teach the boy a lesson. He lifted his glaive, taking aim for just a second before throwing it with precision.

It was a hair's width, nothing more, by which it missed the boy's head, taking off a few golden hairs on its way. With a resounding groan of wood, it buried itself in a tree. The boy, shaken, sat on the floor, having ducked the glaive very marginally. Shock was written across his face.

Nortrom moved quickly, shield hefted, ready to kill the much smaller opponent, no matter how much it seemed like an unfair advantage he was pressing. His shadow fell across the child and he lifted the shield. He could crush every bone in this little body. Nortrom held his shield aloft, dripping water, but the strike to win the unexpected encounter never came.

"...are you crying?" Nortrom's killing attempt had been thwarted by the sight of tears.

The boy stared up at him with childish petulance as he shook his head and wiped his eyes with his trailing sleeves. Nortrom noticed a neatly tied bow beneath robes that could belong to an apprentice. The boy warbled something. Nortrom lowered the shield and plucked his glaive from the tree. The boy wailed, and cried, this time with sobs and thick tears rolling down his cheeks. He was afraid, in the way that only the inexperienced and new were terrified within this war.

Nortrom sighed. Alright. Perhaps his heart had softened in his years of suffering.

"Calm down. I won't kill you."

"B-but you-were just-"

"Shh..." Nortrom planted his shield in the ground and holstered the glaive. Kneeling by the child only worsened the ache across his shoulders, in his legs. 

"Do you have a name, little one?"

The boy stared back at him, distrustful, silent.

Nortrom sighed once more, then pulled the helmet off of his head. Perhaps he'd intimidate the child less if he could see his face.

"I am called Nortrom. Some call me the Silencer. What do they call you?"

The boy parted his pout, only to squint at Nortrom's offer.

"I'm Carl. And I'm gonna be the greatest mage in this world and the next, so you better apologize, Nortrom the mean back end of a hog!"

Nortrom blinked his eyes slowly. Huh. Well. This was new. Heroes had become otherworldly, changed their appearance entirely, gained facial hair, horns and growths.

But no one had ever, to his knowledge, become a child version of themselves. He held out one hand that Carl recoiled from.

"I am sorry. I didn't recognize you like this."

"You know me?" 

"Of course I do. You're the greatest mage the world's ever seen."

The child - Carl, pronouncing his own name in a distinctly human fashion - smiled broadly and pulled himself up by Nortrom's hand. Apparently, one compliment was enough for him to trust Nortrom completely. Little fool.

"Tell me about _me_!"

Nortrom stood once more, but found his hand fully in the possession of the child. And he didn't look to let go any time soon. In fact, he seemed vibrant with excitement, bouncing on his little feet.

"...alright. Come with me then, little one."

The battle could wait. This was, even by the standard set in this infernally looped war, just too strange.

**Author's Note:**

> And then Nortrom got reported for feeding and not playing with his team v.v


End file.
